A Rose by Any Other Name
by Aqono
Summary: AU! Virgil and Richie are twenty-five, high school and college graduates, and have been in a relationship for nearly five years. Everything about both of their lives is going great, except that that which Virgil has been suppressing for nearly a decade is starting to resurface, and with full force. While at first he tries to once again suppress it, he slowly learns to accept it.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Static Shock  
**Summary:** AU! Virgil and Richie are twenty-five, high school and college graduates, and have been in a relationship for nearly five years. Everything about both of their lives is going great, except that that which Virgil has been suppressing for nearly a decade is starting to resurface, and with full force. While at first he tries to once again suppress it, he slowly learns to accept it.  
**Content:** Gender identity issues

"Hotstreak, I am going to give you one more chance to put it down."

It has been over an hour since Static and Gear answered a police call that Hotstreak was downtown destroying everything in his path. After some time of painful, tooth-pulling-esque conversation, Gear was able to deduce that Hotstreak had, once again, seen a movie that he found particularly foul, became enraged over it, and left the theater in a fit. In a moment that Hotstreak was turned away, Gear had leaned over to Static and whispered about how Hotstreak should probably just stay away from media altogether. Static agreed.

"You can't make me, Sparky," Hotstreak hisses. "Neither of you can make me!"

Static rubs his eyes with his right pointer finger and thumb, letting out a low, annoyed groan. There is only so long one can stand to reason with a villain before brute force becomes entirely fair game. With a sigh, Static drops his hand to his side and stares at Hotstreak for a minute more, watching as he sets a street vendor's cart on fire, and then sending it hurtling across the park where it lands in the grass, near a sprinkler system.

"I would think again about that, Hotstreak."

Static puts his hands together as Gear moves out of the way. Sending a massive surge of electricity through is hands, Static grabs Hotstreak and pins him to a nearby billboard, and that becomes the end of that. Rolling his eyes, he rubs his hands together and flies over to Hotstreak, hovering next to him.

"You think you'd learn by now that I'm more powerful than you, Hotstreak," Static says as he crosses his arms. Glancing down at the ground, he watches as police cars form a circle and police officer after police officer get out of their cars, ready to take Hotstreak back to jail. Static grins and looks back at Hotstreak. "And that your actions have consequences. This action happened to get you community service." He shrugs. "Have fun," he adds as he turns and heads back toward Gear who is already on the ground.

Before Static has a chance to congratulate his partner on a job well done, they become bombarded with reporters. Static and Gear both smile as their picture is taken, sometimes pulling off some of the most ridiculous poses. Then the requests for an interview begin, and they do their best to answer each question before another falls upon them.

"Static, sir," says one of the reporters, "why did that fight take so long?"

Static winces at the comment, doing his best to hide it. "Call me Static," he says before answering the question. "It took so long because I wanted to reason with him. Force isn't always the way to go, at least not initially."

"Mr. Static," says another reporter, but Static doesn't hear the question.

"Please, just call me Static." Static grins, remaining as polite as he can, even though he's had to correct the reporters thrice now. "There's no reason to add the honorifics."

"Sorry, sir," says the reporter, "but what about the question?"

"I'm sorry," Static says, doing his best to hide his irritation, "what was the question?" He pauses for a moment before adding, "Please, just call me Static." It's as if he's a broken record, forever doomed to repeat the same phrase.

"Sorry, sir, the question was—"

Static cuts off the question before the reporter has a chance to finish it. "I'm sorry," he says, "but I have to go. I just remembered I have… stuff to take care of. Sorry." With that, Static throws out his disc and jumps on, evading the scene before the reporters have a chance to ask Static anymore questions.

Every reporter turns to Gear.

"Gear, a question," says one reporter.

"What's going on with Static?" asks another reporter.

The questions are all too much; the questions are all being said at once and it's overwhelming even for a super-genius, if only because he's now worried about Static, and why he bailed on the interview—normally, Static loves being in the limelight.

"No more questions," Gear says simply and offers a smile for the camera before lifting off the ground. He speeds off in the general direction he remembers Static going.

**-SS-**

About ten minutes after bailing on the interview, Virgil lands at the docks. It's one of the most private places in the city, and after convincing Richie that he hates the place, it's where he can now come to think when he doesn't want to be bothered. Sure it's sort of a low thing to do, lying to his boyfriend, but life has become far too hectic lately for Virgil to not have a place to come and sit and think.

Sitting down on the edge of the dock, Virgil looks over the edge at the water. He begins to bounce his leg as he stares at his reflection, almost immediately disgusted with what he sees. Squeezing his eyes shut, he kicks the water with his foot to create ripples, opening his eyes back up to look at his reflection once again. He smiles, feeling a little better with what he sees; feeling a little better with the distorted reflection staring back at him.

_God, do I hate reporters. What is so hard to understand about just calling me Static? There is no reason those reporters need to call me 'sir' or 'mister.' They don't know a damn thing about me; they don't know what fucking pronouns I prefer._

Static sighs. Letting his head fall forward, so his chin is against his chest, he closes his eyes as tears begin to sting the corners of them. That's the thing, though; no one knew what pronouns Virgil preferred to be addressed as. There is not a single soul—except maybe that of his mother's—that knows a damn thing about Virgil.

Not even Richie.

Not even his own boyfriend knows what goes through Virgil's mind every single day; what goes through his mind when someone addresses Virgil as 'mister' or 'sir' or any other form of a masculine pronoun. It infuriates Virgil, sometimes, that he hates so much being called a male. Life would be immensely easier if it didn't bother him quite so much.

But it does.

It even bothers him when his own father calls him 'son'—a term of endearment, as it were, Robert has called Virgil his entire life.

The part that really gets to Virgil, too, is that since it started to really bother him back during his junior year of high school—almost ten years earlier—he has not told a single soul, because Virgil is positive no one is going to understand.

Besides, there is no point in talking to anyone about if Virgil doesn't even know what he would rather be referred to as. He just knows he doesn't want to be referred to as a man, but unfortunately, since he is, by every biological textbook fact, a male, that's what he's going to get, and it sucks.

The most confusing part to him, really, is that he doesn't mind minds being biologically a male; he doesn't mind having the _male parts_, as it were; he just hates being _called _a male. He hates being seen as a male. He doesn't hate _being_ a male; he hates _coming_ _across_ as one.

Virgil sighs and pulls his legs to his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around his knees. He rests his chin on his knees as he stares at his reflection in the, once again, calm water. Everything about what Virgil sees in the water infuriates him, and it has for a long time.

Sighing, Virgil kicks the water again before he stands up. With his backpack over his shoulder—because he went back to HQ to get it before going to the docks—he makes his way out onto the sidewalk where he, very slowly, makes his way back to his apartment. He knows once he gets there he's going to see Richie—ever since they moved in together the year before the dock is his only solace away from him—and part of him isn't ready for that.

Because he knows Richie is going to question why he bailed, and there's no easy way to say: 'They kept calling me masculine pronouns, and I was tired of it,' so Virgil spends the walk home thinking of a lie; thinking of any other excuse for bailing on the interview.

Really, that is the entire issue right there: for ten years (and probably even longer than that) Virgil has felt masculine pronouns do not describe him; do not adequately portray who he is, and only just recently has he grown exponentially tired of them. The problem is he has no idea what to do about it.

Not to mention, he doesn't even know what pronouns he prefers. He has spent so long trying to ignore it; so long trying to pretend being called a male isn't a problem, that now it's starting to bother him full force. Most people—at least it seems—know from childhood what they prefer, but not Virgil. He just knows being of the male gender isn't doing for him.

Virgil sighs. He really wishes he could just talk to Richie about this; talk to anyone about this. Talking about his sexual orientation was different; it was easier to come out as Pansexual because that had a positive outcome—he gained a boyfriend from coming out as Pan. Coming out as gender variant—because like hell does he know what he is at this point—is much more difficult for a variety of reasons, the two main being: he has no idea who he is at this point, and talking to and flustering others isn't going to help him figure it out any faster. The second reason is: Richie is gay and the last thing Virgil wants to risk is losing his boyfriend over something like his gender identity.

There are a whole slew of reasons Virgil doesn't want to admit his gender is wrong. His sex is fine, but his gender is wrong, but either way, he doesn't want to admit it. Truth be told, a good portion of the reason Virgil has told no one is because of that reason; because Virgil fears severing really important ties he has with people, especially Richie.

Coming upon a bench, Virgil sighs as he sits down. He's less than twenty feet from his apartment, but right now he's near tears and the last thing he wants, and needs, to do right now is confront Richie. Resting his elbows on his thighs, he buries his face in his hands.

He was able to ignore this for almost ten years; he was able to just not think about his gender issues for the longest time, but now it's all coming on him full force, seemingly without warning, and instead of dealing with it Virgil is, once again, doing his best to suppress it.

Ignore it.

Ignoring it is easier than accepting it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Static Shock  
**Summary**: AU! Virgil and Richie are twenty-five, high school and college graduates, and have been in a relationship for nearly five years. Everything about both of their lives is going great, except that that which Virgil has been suppressing for nearly a decade is starting to resurface, and with full force. While at first he tries to once again suppress it, he slowly learns to accept it.  
**Content**: Gender identity issues, passing mention of self-harm

Virgil sighs and lolls his head back on the bench. After letting out a sigh, he clears his throat and lets his mind wander to a variety of topics. No matter what he initially thinks about, however, his mind always goes back to his gender identity and how he still has no idea what it is.

Fuck that reporter for making Virgil have to once again forget he isn't comfortable with what he is; for once again reminding him he is, in fact, _not_ a male. Virgil has been doing so well at not thinking about this, and now, all of a sudden, he's been thrust into this spiral of contemplation of which he would much rather not be part.

Even though the majority of the struggle to hide who he is began in the last ten years, Virgil has felt a disconnection between his sex and gender for much, much longer. Ever since he was little, one thing that has always confused Virgil is why he's always expected to be like the other boys—his farther may have never explicitly stated Virgil had to be like the other boys, but the media and other children did; he was never allowed to play with 'girl' toys, whatever that meant. To Virgil, they were toys—why did gender and sex have to be attached to plastic? Either way, instead of playing with the toys he wanted to, he spent his time pretending he was a superhero and playing with toy trucks, which never minded, but he wanted to be able to play with his mother's clothes and his sister's toys just as much as he did anything else, sometimes more so.

Virgil clears his throat and groans because can't believe he's really letting himself think about this—the last time he let himself really think about this, he almost slit his arm open. Thankfully, logic kicked in before emotion could completely take over and he stopped himself from doing that.

There is the possibility that Virgil is gender neutral—he has always felt relatively comfortable when someone refers to him as "'hem' or 'that person'—but that could also just be because whomever is calling him those pronouns _isn't_ calling him a male. Clearing his throat, he presses his hands against his face and leans forward, reeling over that idea. It only takes a few minutes for him to groan because, no, those pronouns don't capture who he is; they only eliminate being called what he's not. They do not encompass who he is; they aren't him at all.

So, then comes the thought: maybe he's a girl.

This is a thought Virgil has considered before, but the last time the thought came up, he got so flustered and upset about the idea, and what coming out would do to him, he quickly pretended he hadn't thought of the idea at all. At the time, Francis was already bullying him for essentially for existing that being a girl would have been yet another reason to give him a black eye.

Virgil wraps his hands around the back of his neck. A chocked sob escapes his lips as he does his best to stop thinking about this; does his best to ignore it and pretend being called "he" and "sir" and "mister" doesn't bother him. He does his best to make himself pretend one more time, because maybe this time it will last. Pretending and ignoring are easier than accepting.

Pretending and ignoring are easier than admitting he's known all along whom he really is, and having to accept it. Besides, twenty-five years of being a 'him' is an awful long time to reverse and throw away for suddenly being a 'her.'

Except that he was never really 'him' to begin with.

No, Virgil has honestly always been a she, whether or not she wants to bring herself to accept it, because as much as she doesn't want to admit it, she feels better about herself being referred to as a female. There was one time someone mistook Virgil as a woman, because of how long her hair is, and the fact she always wears it in a ponytail, and though she wouldn't let herself admit it then, it was the best about herself she felt in a long time.

However, just because she feels more comfortable as a she doesn't mean she thinks it's fair. There is nothing fair about being surrounded by men and women who are comfortable with their genders while Virgil struggles with hers. There is nothing fair about watching Richie fill out forms that ask for his gender and checking 'male' without a moment of hesitation while Virgil has to make herself check 'male' to avoid potential explanation. There is nothing fair about any of that. Life would be so much easier if being called 'male' didn't cringe so much; if being referred to as her assigned sex didn't make her want to scream.

In fact, it's almost as if being called 'her' is some kind of guilty pleasure she can't let anyone know anything about, and it's annoying that being a 'he' doesn't make her feel just a good, because in a way, it's like wanting real Swiss Chocolate from Switzerland but having to settle for the mud on the bottom of her shoe—the two kind of look almost the same, but one is delicious and wonderful and mouth-watering while the other leaves a nasty taste in her mouth and makes her want to vomit.

Tears are stinging Virgil's eyes as she lets go of her neck and sits up. Sitting up straight, she stares off to space, closes her eyes, and inhales deeply. Shaking her head slowly, she bites her lip and mentally kicks herself for letting her mind wander; kicks herself for letting herself accept this as being who she is.

Fuck reporters.

How the fuck is Virgil supposed to tell Richie?

**-SS-**

Richie has been watching Virgil from the window of their apartment for close to an hour. Although he can't hear him, it's painfully—emphasis on painful—obvious to Richie that Virgil is experiencing some kind of emotional stress. In twenty years of being Virgil's best friend, and five years of being his boyfriend, one thing Richie has become an expert at is realizing when Virgil is upset.

When he sees Virgil stop moving and just stare off into space, Richie lets go of the curtain and makes his way outside. While he heads down the three flights of stairs, he wonders momentarily if any of this has to do with the interview Virgil bailed earlier that day. Although it doesn't make much sense on the outside, if it is the case, Richie is positive Virgil has a logical reason for it being the reason.

Sniffing, Richie stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jeans and sits down next to Virgil. He glances sideways momentarily to get an idea of how upset he is, and immediately his stomach churns and is in his throat because he sees he's been crying—Richie absolutely hates seeing Virgil cry. Taking in a deep breath, he sighs and looks forward.

"Is everything okay?" Richie asks.

Virgil sniffs and looks down at his lap. "Yeah," she lies. "I'm just… tired." She mentally winces at how horrible of a lie that is. She's so stressed and upset that she can't even think of a good lie. She sighs, hoping like hell Richie bought it, anyway.

Nodding, Richie sighs and leans back. He knows Virgil is lying, but pressing the issue is only going to make it worse, so he decides to take the conversation elsewhere. "Why did you bail on the interview?"

"I don't know," Virgil says and shrugs. "I just…" She trails off and sighs. Squeezing her eyes closed, she shakes her head because, first of all, she can't think of a lie. Second of all, the last thing Virgil wants to do is admit why she's absolutely not okay. "I just… I just did."

After taking a deep breath, Richie sighs and looks down at his lap. As much as he wants to know why Virgil is upset, he doesn't want to press the issue and make him mad. So, instead of asking again, he just nods and stares at his lap, just as Virgil is doing.

For what seems like forever, there is silence between Virgil and Richie. Before either one of them makes so much as a sound, the sun is going down. The sight of it momentarily startles Virgil, because part of her can't believe she's been sitting outside for so long. The part that gets to her about it, though, is that even though she's been sitting outside for so long, nothing has gotten accomplished; she has yet to either ignore or accept the fact she is, in fact, a she. The only good to come out of this time is that she now acknowledges it.

Virgil finally sighs and turns her head to look at Richie. She clears her throat to get his attention. "Um," she begin, taking in a deep breath, "actually… actually there is something." She sniffs in an effort to stop her voice from breaking. "I, um…"

Gently, Richie bites his bottom lip, watching intently as Virgil struggles through what he's trying to say to him. Part of Richie wants to encourage him, tell him it's okay and he's here for him no matter what it is, but the other part of him knows he should just remain quiet until Virgil finds the words to portray his thoughts. Offering Virgil a smile, he reaches out a hand and squeezes his shoulder.

Virgil glances at Richie's arm, biting her lip. She squeezes her eyes shut and looks down at her lap, her breathing heavy. She has never told another living soul about this—she has talked it out with her mother a couple of times but nothing ever really came of the conversations—and she can't honestly believe she's about to; can't believe she's about to divulge this information with someone who can react to it. With someone who _will_ react to it.

Looking back down at her lap, Virgil twists his right fingers in his left hand as he lets out a slow, shaky breath. "Richie," she says just above a whisper, her voice raspy, "I…" She trails off to clear her throat because she knows what she's saying is barely audible. Taking in a deep breath, she finally just spits it out: "I'm Trans."


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Static Shock  
**Summary**: AU! Virgil and Richie are twenty-five, high school and college graduates, and have been in a relationship for nearly five years. Everything about both of their lives is going great, except that that which Virgil has been suppressing for nearly a decade is starting to resurface, and with full force. While at first he tries to once again suppress it, he slowly learns to accept it.  
**Content**: Gender identity issues

As soon as the word leaves his mouth, Richie mentally kicks himself. He knows for a one hundred percent solid fact the response he gives Virgil is not the response she wants, at all, but it was the first thing Richie could think to say, because he didn't want to leave Virgil hanging, but he also couldn't think of a way to respond to the new information at the drop of a pin, so his instinct ended up being to go with his first thought.

Unfortunately, "Oh," is not the response Virgil is looking for.

Narrowing his eyes, Virgil glares at Richie and flairs her left nostril. "What the fuck do you mean 'Oh'? I just told you I'm fucking _Trans _and your response to that is fucking '_Oh_'?"

Scoffing, Virgil stands up from the bench and steps about a foot or so away. Richie watches as she throws her hands up and starts pacing before him. Every time she has something to say, she stops in front of Richie and crosses her arms, and whenever she pauses to breathe or think, she starts pacing again. Each time she stops, her eyes get more and more black and with anger, almost until the point that Richie honestly thinks she's going to snap and kill him. Regardless, however, Richie keeps his cool and just lets Virgil blow off steam, because he knows that's all this is.

At least, he hopes that's all this is.

"I can't believe I just came out to you, and your fucking response is 'Oh.' Are you fucking kidding me? I—erg!" Virgil squeezes her hands into fists and glares before turning away. There are about two minutes of silence between them before she turns back and continues going off. "What a fucking selfish thing to say—'_Oh_.' I had more of a reaction when you came out to me! At least I said something supportive! But no, I'm Trans and all you can think of to say is 'Oh!' Are you actually kidding me right, now, Richie?!"

Growling, a glare of death in her eyes, Virgil huffs loudly through her nose and turns away again, crossing her arms tightly over her chest and bounces her left leg. This time, she is facing away from Richie for a little more than fifteen because part of her can't seem to decide what else to say. On the one hand, she wants to continue ranting and screaming about how pissed off she is, but on the other hand, she's pretty sure Richie gets the idea. But, back on the other hand, another part of her doesn't care if Richie gets the idea or not, because coming out as Trans is a huge deal for her, and he doesn't seem to give an ounce of a fuck.

"Why the fuck was your response simply 'Oh'?" Virgil asks, turning back around. Her arms are still crossed but the fire in her eyes has calmed down a little. "I mean, don't I deserve a little more acknowledgement than that?" She clears her throat and squeezes her eyes shut because she can feel tears coming, and the last thing she wants is Richie to see them. "You're the only living person I've _ever _told this to, and your response is—" she clears her throat again and presses the heel of her palm against her forehead, tilting her head downward. She finishes her sentence as a whisper.

Richie stares at Virgil as she crosses her arms again, her head lolling forward. Tears escape through her closed eyes, dampening her skin several shades darker as they fall down her cheeks. For several moments, Richie stays on the bench, debating if he should get up and give Virgil a hug or not. He knows he should, but she's so upset that, in a way, he finds it safer to stay where he is until she decides to come to him.

Sniffing, Richie does his best to keep his composure, but seeing Virgil cry makes it incredibly difficult. Inhaling slowly, he bites his lip and lets out the breath as a soft moan. "Virgil," he says, his voice a gentle whisper, "you know I love you."

Richie stands up and makes his way to her, standing with his arms at his sides less than a foot in front of Virgil. It takes several moments, but he waits until Virgil drops her arms, rather reluctantly, and looks at Richie, also somewhat reluctantly. She's doing her best to still be mad, or, at the very least, come across as such. Just because Richie said I love you doesn't mean his reaction didn't piss her off. Richie sighs and, risking it, pulls Virgil into his arms, hugging her as tightly as he can manage.

"Virgil," Richie says softly, wrapping his arms around her back, "you know I love you. I am always going to love you, no matter what. I don't care about your sex or your gender, and you know should know that." He holds Virgil tighter when she wraps her arms around Richie. "You are seriously the most important person in my life, V, and nothing—and I mean nothing—will ever change that." He pauses for a brief moment before adding: "I'm sorry my initial response was 'Oh,' and I'm sorry I hurt you by saying it. I didn't know what else to say, but I didn't want to not respond."

Bouncing her leg, Virgil continues to hug Richie without saying anything. She sniffs as she buries her face into Richie's shoulders, the tears from before returning and running down her cheeks, dampening Richie's tee-shirt. In no time at all, the tears turn into sobs and Virgil is practically clinging to Richie. Holding her as tightly as he can, Richie hums soothingly into her ear while she cries.

Ten years Virgil has kept this secret. It has been teen years since Virgil realized she is a girl, and now someone else knows. It took Virgil so long to tell someone because she was afraid of the way it would turn out; she was afraid of what people might say or think of she came out as Trans. Never mind that she still is afraid, but now slightly less so knowing that the one person she loves the most completely accepts her.

It's also the reason she's crying.

Over the course of ten years, Virgil has played through every single scenario she could possibly conjure up, even the ones that could never conceivably happen. One of the more obscure scenarios included: Richie laughing and saying she's not a woman and she's being crazy—even though she knows Richie would never say that, considering how proactive and accepting he is about LGBT related issues. Regardless, that doesn't change the fact Virgil, at one point, made herself believe it.

Another scenario Virgil created, that seemed a lot more realistic, and still honestly does, is Richie ending their friendship, or even more terrifyingly, their relationship. The scenario about ending their relationship is the one that has run rampant in her mind for five years. The way he figured it was: Richie is gay, and has self-professed several times that he's only interested in men, so the last thing he'll want is to be with someone who's female, even if it's only in way of gender.

The last thing Virgil expected was for Richie to be nonchalant about it. She expected some sort of huge reaction because, in all honesty, it's been such a huge part of her life for a decade, and part of her expected it for it be just as huge for Richie. In a way, she was looking for her years of hiding and stressing over her gender to be justified by a huge reaction, but what actually did happen was, overall, rather anticlimactic for how many years of stress and tears and anxiety Virgil has invested into this.

After quite some time, Virgil finally begins to calm down. Richie is still gently rubbing her back, still humming the same gentle tune. When Virgil is calm enough to walk, Richie leads them into their apartment where they immediately head for their bedroom. They strip off just enough clothes to bring themselves comfort once they get in bed, and then they do so. Virgil snuggles up against Richie's chest and yawns, but neither of them is tired.

"I'm sorry I got so mad at you," Virgil says, closing her eyes. "I just… I've kept this a secret for so long… and I've invested so much heartache and so many tears… and…" She finally trails off and sighs, sniffs, and clears her throat. She scoots in closer to Richie who wraps his arms around her tighter. "I just… I don't know." She pauses to yawn, finally starting to get tired. Work, fighting crime, and coming out is an exhausting way to spend a day. "I guess I just expected more of a response because I've made such a big deal of it for so long. I didn't expect you to be so easily accepting; that wasn't one of the scenarios I came up with."

"What _were _the scenarios you came up with?"

"Um… I don't know. Most of them involved you leaving me because why would you want to be with a girl? You're gay."

Richie laughs softly and pulls Virgil closer, tangling his fingers in her dreads. "I don't care if you feel your sex—"

"No," Virgil says, gently cutting Richie off, "It's my gender, not my sex. My sex is fine as it is; it's my gender that's female."

"Oh," Richie says. "Well, then gender." He pauses to clear his throat. "Either way, I just want you to be happy. That's all I care about; that's all I've ever care about. Hell, I care about your happiness above my own. I care about you above anyone and anything, Virgil."

"I know," is all Virgil can think to say. She has always known Richie cares about her, even since grade school when they first met. They have been through hell and high water together, and logically she knows Richie will always, in one way or another, care about her. "I care about you, too."

There are several minutes of silence. During that time, both Richie and Virgil's breathing begin to slow down. Richie closes his eyes and holds Virgil a little closer to him after she shifts so as to lie more on her stomach than her side. The new position also allows for Virgil to bury her face directly against Richie's chest, the toned muscles she's touching sending chills down her spine and making her stomach flip. If there's one thing Virgil loves, its Richie's muscles.

"Rich," Virgil says, muffled. "Can I ask you something?"

Murmuring, Richie clears his throat and moves his hand from Virgil's back to his hair, where he tangles his fingers in the long dreads. "Sure," he says.

"Um…" Virgil says and takes in a long, deep breath, letting it out as a sigh. "Can you, um, not call me Virgil?" She shifts again, pulling the blanket so it wraps around her shoulders. It's almost as if she's trying to hide incase her request is denied for whatever reason, not that she believes it will be, but part of her is still on edge. Ten years of literally worrying herself sick from this is going to take time to reverse. "It, uh… it's a guy's name. I, uh…"

"Of course I can. What would you prefer I call you?"

"I, uh… I don't know. Just, uh… not Virgil, I guess?"

Richie smiles. "What if I just call you V until I figure out something better?"

V nods. She inhales and exhales a breath against Richie's chest, the warm breath sending goose bumps his spine. "That works." There's a brief pause. "Thanks, Rich."

"Of course, V," Richie says with a big grin on his lips. "I love you, and I just want to help you however I can."

"Do you think I should tell my dad? Sharon?"

"Yes," Richie says with a soft laugh, "I think you should, but not yet. Give yourself some time to think things through and decide what you want to say to them. It might make coming out to them all the much easier, I think."

V just nods. She's too tired to verbally respond anymore.

Richie smiles and sighs softly. "I love you, baby girl," he says, seemingly out of nowhere.

However, it's not as though V minds. As a matter-of-fact, as soon as the words leave Richie's lips, tears threaten to leave her eyes. She sniffs and does her best to bay the tears because if they fall, they'll fall on Richie's chest, and she doesn't want him to know she's almost in tears, especially from something as silly as a nickname. Though she and Richie have jokingly called each other pet names before, neither of them liked them. This one is different; this one actually makes V feel great about her self-image. Part of her hopes this is a nickname Richie will continue with because never before has a comment made her feel so good. So loved.

"I love you, too, Rich."

Virgil and Richie are out like lamps in no time.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Static Shock  
**Summary:** AU! Virgil and Richie are twenty-five, high school and college graduates, and have been in a relationship for nearly five years. Everything about both of their lives is going great, except that that which Virgil has been suppressing for nearly a decade is starting to resurface, and with full force. While at first he tries to once again suppress it, he slowly learns to accept it.  
**Content:** Gender identity issues

Pressing the heels of her palms against her forehead, V rests her elbows on Richie's desk, leans forward, and cries. Richie is still in bed, in their bedroom down the hall, so this is as good a time as any to let out all the pent up emotions; to just let it all go.

There are so many questions V wants to know the answer to, so many things she wants to figure out, and looking at articles on the internet is only making it overwhelming, scary. She lets herself cry because, even after ten years, she knows just as much about being Trans, and the steps she needs to take to become more comfortable with her body, as Richie or her family does—absolutely nothing. In a way, it makes her feel like a failure, or as if she's not really Trans at all; as if she's making it at all up.

The thought only makes her cry more. She knows she's not making it up; knows this isn't all in her head, at least not in that way. Gender identity is a psychological thing, so it is technically in her head, but it's real; she really is a female. V really does not feel comfortable expressing herself as a male; it isn't who she is, even if it is biologically. She sighs because she's so confused.

V groans. This is all so overwhelming. It's not like she doesn't have enough to worry about—fighting crime, work, Richie. Adding in gender identity issues is the recipe for madness, insanity. Or, in this specific instance, tears. Many, many tears.

**-SS-**

With a soft moan, Richie takes in a deep breath and turns from his side to his stomach. Reaching out a hand to V's side of the bed, he moves it for several moments before realizing she's not there. Opening his eyes, he sits up and looks around the room then back at her side of the bed. Glancing at the alarm clock beside the bed, he notices its 3:06, and instantly becomes a little concerned. He could have sworn V was in bed with him when he fell asleep.

"V?" Richie calls out into the night. When he doesn't get a response, he calls once more as he gets up and grabs his robe. "Where are you?" he calls, slipping the robe over his arms. He makes his way out of the bedroom and is, almost immediately, met with the sound of distant sobbing. He furrows his eyebrows, pressing his pointer finger and thumb against his chin. "V?" he asks, heading toward the sound.

Thankfully, it doesn't take Richie very long to find V sitting at his desk, crying. He goes wide-eyed as he hurries into the room and gets down on one knee beside her. "Hey," he says gently, pressing his right hand against her bicep and squeezing it, "what's wrong? Why are you crying?"

"It's all so confusing, Richie!" V cries. The suddenness and volume of her tone slightly startles Richie. "It's all so fucking confusing!" Shaking Richie's hand off her shoulder, she drops her hands into her lap and turns in the seat to face him. The sight of her tears instantly breaks his heart. "It's all so confusing," she says again, pointing at the computer screen. "I don't even_ know where to begin_ with all this! I just… I just want be _normal_!"

Normal. The word pierces like a dagger to Richie's heart. If there's one thing Richie wants V to understand, more than anything, it's that she's _perfectly_ normal; it's absolutely, perfectly normal to be Trans, and there is absolutely nothing wrong with her. Besides, normal is such a relative term, anyway; there's no way to define what is and isn't normal.

Gently, Richie presses his hand against V's cheek which she instantly leans into, pressing her own hand against his. She closes her eyes, enjoying the comfort of his fingers gently massaging her cheek. For several moments, they both remain quiet until V is able to calm down enough to have an understandable conversation. Considering Richie's touch is easily the most effective thing to calm V down, it doesn't take very long for her to stop crying.

There are so many questions Richie could ask right now, but he decides to simply ask what V is doing out of bed; why she's even on the computer in the first place. He throws in a joke about how he swore she was where when he fell asleep, but V brushes it off—she's not really in the mood for jokes right now.

"I couldn't sleep, so I thought I'd read about hormone therapy." V shrugs and turns her head to stare at the screen. Reaching her right hand out, she grabs the external mouse and scrolls down the seemingly never-ending page. When she finally does get to the bottom, she turns back to Richie. "But there's so much information and it's so overwhelming and I don't even know if I would work, anyway, because of my fucking electricity. You know how medicine, like, never works for me. Ever." She sniffs and looks back at the computer screen. "I think I'm gonna be stuck in this fucking body forever, Richie."

For a moment Richie closes his eyes, because he really wishes there were something he could do. Sure he could probably make some sort of hormone treatment to benefit her, but the fact of the matter is it's safer for a certified doctor to perform that sort of thing, as much as it kills Richie, because he really wants to help her. With a soft sigh, he opens his eyes again and gets to his feet. Bending over, he pulls V out of the chair and into his arms, which is so easy because she is letting him do it.

"You'll have the body you want if I have to personally make sure it happens," Richie says airily against her ear. The words somewhat relax V and she wraps her arms around Richie's back, resting her chin on his shoulder. "I want you to be as comfortable as possible. I want you to be happy with who you are."

V sighs through her nose and looks down. "I just feel so stupid because I don't know anything about this. I spent so long trying to hide it and ignore it and pretend it wasn't real… I should have been using that time to discover what I want and who I am and…" V sighs heavily. "Just, you know, all this crap; I should have been worrying about all this, not hiding it."

"You can worry about it now," Richie says and squeezes V tightly before letting her go. He takes a step back and smiles, pushing her long dreads out of her face. The gentle gesture makes V grin, despite how much she just wants to keep crying. Richie smiles as well. "Just... not... _right now_, because it's late, and we both need to be sleeping. You know how we're basically on call twenty-four/seven."

V snorts because it's true; there is no rest for a hero.

Taking Richie's hand, V lets herself be led back to the bedroom. "Yeah," she says halfway between the office and the bedroom when she has a thought, "but, you know, at least when someone decides to rob a store at three in the morning, there's not a horde of reporters there to call 'Sir' or 'Mister Static.' I'm surprised none of them have tried Sir Static yet… like I'm some kind of fucking royalty or something."

Richie grins, laughing through nose, as he sits down on his side of the bed. Virgil sits down on hers. "You could correct them," he says as he takes off his robe and hangs it up. "Just tell them you prefer to be called 'Ma'am' or 'Ms Static.'"

"Oh yeah," V says with a throaty laughs, mostly because the idea of being called 'Ms Static' is just as stupid, although she could get used to being called 'Ma'am.' "I can imagine it now: 'By the way, Dakota, your favorite superhero is Trans, so for all of you who call me a guy—stop.' Somehow, that's not exactly the way I imagined coming out."

Richie shrugs as he lies back against the headboard. V follows suit. "You'll have to tell them all eventually. Especially if you plan on going through with hormone therapy," he says and gestures in the general direction of his office, "I'm pretty sure that stuff causes at least partial breast development or something. People will wonder, and you know how Dakota is with rumors… and not being over all pretty shitty."

"Richie, oh, my God." V rolls her eyes but laughs—she has heard this all before. "Yes, please, tell me more about how much you hate living in Dakota," she says with a snort. There is a moment of silence before she sighs and continues. "Look, I know you hate it here, but there's really nothing we can do about it right now; it's near Gotham, and these people need us. It's the best place for us right now."

Richie sighs heavily and scoots down under the covers. He lies on his side to face V and, after she zaps the light off, and lies down next to him, he wraps his arms around her tightly. "I know it's the best place for us," he says matter-of-factly, "but that doesn't mean I can't hate it here. I just think we would both be so much happier somewhere else."

With a soft sigh, V scoots back against Richie and rests her head on the edge of his pillow. She closes her eyes, taking in slow, deep breaths as she tries to calm down enough in order to go to sleep again. The fact she can feel the gentle rise and fall of Richie's chest against her back is helping tremendously.

"One day we'll move out of Dakota," V says tiredly. "I promise."

"Mm," Richie murmurs in response. "One day you'll have the body you want," he says in return. "Just try not to stress too much; you'll make yourself crazy. Everything will work out in time." He pauses for a moment to yawn. When it passes, he shakes his head and cuddles up against V all the closer. "I promise."

The exchange of promises is what keeps them both asleep throughout the rest of the night, well into the afternoon. Neither of them makes a single movement until noon, when the sun coming in through the edges of the curtain begins to disturb V. Even still, she manages to stay asleep for another two hours.

Saturdays are undoubtedly such a wonderful times for them.


End file.
